


Just thinking about Macbeth

by iriswesttt



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Earth-2, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-23
Updated: 2016-07-04
Packaged: 2018-07-16 20:31:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 18,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7283635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iriswesttt/pseuds/iriswesttt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Earth-2 Iris and Barry becoming study-partners and then something else</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ishipit87](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ishipit87/gifts).



_Thank god_ , she thought as she walked into her first official college class, someone she knew!

She would never admit, and she would never allow for it to show, but she was nervous about it, about college, and Barry Allen’s familiar face was somewhat a relief.

Barry Allen was someone Iris West knew. Granted, she didn’t know him  _know him,_ she knew him the kind of way you know someone that you went to school with (he had transferred to Central City High in their sophomore year), someone that apparently went to the same college as you. Someone you didn’t even pay much attention to. 

All Iris knew was that Barry would always get good grades, especially in science subjects, she knew that he lived with both of his parents throughout school (she wasn’t really sure of his living arrangements were now), and that he hated physical education (apparently even more than she did), but instead of picking a sport and sticking with it like she had done with boxing he would always vanish (or he did in their senior year when they had PE in the same period) but somehow passed the class anyway. 

She knew he had to be a little obsessed with his hair, always combed the same exact way, and that he was probably the only student that in high school buttoned his uniform shirt up to the last button. He would even wear the school tie sometimes. 

Iris wasn’t even sure if she ever owned an uniform tie, she never ever found it on the days usage was mandatory, so probably not.

Nonetheless she walked into that first class of the first semester of college, and she had picked as many English subjects as she could and  _Shakespeare: Literary Analysis_  was one of them, and for her surprise Barry Allen was there too and there was free sit beside him so it didn’t matter that Iris didn’t  _really know_  Barry Allen.

In high school she wouldn’t have picked that place: Lizzie, one of her friends, had once mocked Iris, in the middle of a dressing room full of girls from their year and the year above, for having a crush on Barry Allen. 

Now, Iris would admit that she found him cute while Lizzie, or any of their other friends really, apparently didn’t. 

So she noticed him a little more than the average person? That did not qualify a crush and she had been determinate to prove it. She couldn’t understand what she was scared of exactly, just that if the unsettling feeling on the pit of her stomach whenever she saw him was anything to go by she was scared. 

As it turned out college was scarier than apparently harmless Barry Allen so she sat by his side. Barry didn’t turn to look at her, or gave any signs he had somehow recognised her, but he had to, right? 

And yet Iris looked at him. She watched as Barry aligned all his pens perfectly on the table, and noticed that he had a clear handwriting (see? She didn’t know that about him before), and that he would always change colours on the important parts while taking notes. 

It was only by the end of the period, when Professor Cooper required for them to pair up and for each pair to pick a play and do a presentation about it, and Barry kept frozen by her side, looking at everywhere but her, that Iris had a chance to talk to him;

“Barry?”

He knocked his perfectly aligned pens down the floor and then crashed his head on the desk in his hurry to pick them from the ground and then proceeded to stare at her like he had imagined things, like she couldn’t possibly know his name. He was so impossibly cute, his glasses askew sort of matching the inclination of his bow tie as he rubbed his forehead. 

Iris scolded her face, because she was certainly  _not_  smiling at him, and questioned;

“Would you like to do the project with me?”

“What?” he asked her, fluttering his eyelashes at her, his eyes never leaving hers.

“The assignment,” she tried explaining; “we have to pick a play and do the analyses and then present it. We have to pair up for it.”

“Right.”

“Do you want to do it with me?” 

It was only when Iris saw him blushing from his neck to the roots of his hair and focusing his eyes above her head that she noticed the, well,  _dirty_ , connotation the phrase could assume and she divert her eyes as well. 

That was about when professor Cooper approached their shared desk and asked;

“All right, do we have a pair here?”

And before Barry could protest Iris answered firmly;

“Yes.”

“And you have a play in mind? Romeo and Juliet is already, predictably, taken, so is Midsummer Night Dreams, anything else you can choose from.”

“Macbeth?” Iris suggested, her eyes on Barry, who raised his eyebrows in a weird unreadable way but agreed to it with a nod to the professor’s delight.

After class Iris lingered on the classroom, waiting for Barry to gather his things in silence, and she watched him meticulously and delicately placing everything in his bag when she decided she should have a reason to the lingering, asking;

“Do you have a copy?”

“I — I’m sorry?”

He looked at her surprised again. Maybe he thought she couldn’t speak when they were in high school; that was the only explanation to the way he reacted to her whenever she tried talking to him.

“Do you have a copy of Macbeth? Cause I have two and I thought I could lend you one. If you would like that.”

“Oh, yeah, I mean no, I — I mean, that would be great, if you don’t mind.”

He stood up and Iris wondered when he got so tall. She had never noticed that before so maybe over the summer. 

Barry was wearing a white button down, a grey vest that matched the colour of his trousers, a plaid blue and yellow bow tie and a pair of camel wingtips. She wondered if he got his socks, hidden under the pants, to match his bow tie. He looked like someone who would. 

Iris observed him standing in front of her a little awkwardly, like he had no idea as to what to do with his limbs or his hands and she got an overwhelming need to mess him up in some way. Anyway. Maybe even multiple ways.

His eyes, behind the golden trims of his glasses, never left her and when she noticed he seemed to be aiming his gaze to her lips she got a warm shiver spreading through her.

“You left a pen on the floor,” she pointed out, mainly because she needed to move and was apparently incapable of doing so with Barry Allen staring at her.

“Oh, thanks.”

He didn’t move though, his body close enough to be towering over hers, exuding this  _warmth_  and Iris found she had no desire to move either, and couldn’t understand what was  _that_  about.

Iris bended to grab his pen since apparently he wouldn’t and there was a relief in focusing on something other than Barry Allen for two-seconds, and after she handed the pen back to him she found she could finally step away. 

“Bye, Barry.”

At that he offered her the softest smile, one that shone on his eyes and breathed;

“Bye.”


	2. Chapter 2

Iris West was laying on his bed.

No matter how many ways he would spin it, Barry still couldn’t get his head around it. He discreetly pinched himself to make sure it was actually real life.

They had been discussing Macbeth all afternoon and he knew she was smart; he had heard her talking in public several times in high school, she had frequently been the designated speaker at school events, and she had always been successfully poised and graceful and poignant, but today she had really surprised him; she talked about Macbeth like she really understood it, for beyond what he thought possible really.

He could barely grasp the meaning of the words in front of him, much less identify the metaphors behind it and Iris was 10 steps ahead all the time.

The result of which was that now he really, _really,_ was a goner.

He had a crush on Iris West since the first day of sophomore year of high school when she bumped into him at the hallway and told him he looked really cute in his bow tie before saying her name was Iris West _by the way_.

He hadn’t been able to respond, or wasn’t even exactly sure whether she was being sarcastic. She hadn’t sounded like it, but why would a girl like her tell _him_ he looked cute? (and that was before he even knew she was one of the popular ones). But he noticed that during the whole of that year, every time he would wear the bow tie, she would give him a little wink, making him blush profusely, so probably not sarcasm after all.

And now it suddenly felt more than just a crush. Felt real. Felt like she was in his bed.

He thanked his lucky stars daily for the fact that she sat besides him during that first class and that she had asked him to be her partner for the assignment because it had led to Iris West, in burgundy palazzo pants that were sliding down to her knees thanks to the position she had assumed, lying in his bed.

Barry sat by his desk, looking at her, stomach full of butterflies at the intangible and impossible familiarity she seemed to have with his dorm-room, like she belonged there somehow, as she closed her eyes, turning to lay on her back, saying;

“I can’t take lady Macbeth anymore, I’m too tired.”

He couldn’t think of anything to say back so he said nothing, just watched the way she moved her legs, rubbing on his bedding like a cat, sprawling gracefully, and he prayed that he would get to smell her perfume on it once she was gone. His lack of response caused her to open her eyes again and she questioned him as to what.

“Nothing. Nothing, I’m just thinking about Macbeth.”

“That would be a fun dream.”

“Yeah, probably not.”

She smiled sweetly at him, in a way he had never seen before. Somehow, despite the smell of her perfume, sweet had never seemed like the adjective to qualify Iris West, but her smile was sweet right now. Vulnerable even. She diverted her eyes from his, studying his bedroom attentively once again, and then she told him;

“I like that you colour-organised your books. Maybe I’ll have you do that with mine. I don’t have the patience required.”

“It’s not patience, I’m just…”

“You are anal.”

Barry felt all the blood rushing to his face but the sly smile playing on her lips were almost worth his embarrassment. It did cause him to suspect that her term of choice to define him was purposely chosen so she could see him blush.

“Anal? Jeez.”

“Please, you wore bow ties throughout high school—”

“They were part of the uniform —”

“You align your pens before class.”

“I’m a nerd, I guess.”

“Yes, you are,” she told him, sitting up on his bed; “a very neat and proper one.”

And she was so impossibly beautiful, her lips painted red and her cream shirt against her soft skin (well, Barry assumed it was soft, it looked soft anyway) and all of a sudden, there was this gravity pulling him to her so he sat down on the bed, by her side, not quite touching but close enough to reach, and he watched her studying his socks with another kind of smile on her lips until he asked;

“How come you have two copies of Macbeth?”

“Oh, my mom gave me the special edition for my 15th birthday and my dad already had one, so, there’s two at home.”

He had never heard her talking about her parents before. Barry knew Joseph was a singer, everybody knew that, and he remembered seeing both of her parents at graduation, but he did not know much else, so he nudged her;

“Oh, so your parents…”

“Divorced. I still live with my dad and my mom lives in Atlantis. She’s a theatre actress.”

“Oh, that explains it then.”

She turned to face him, a harsh expression all over her pretty face and that’s when he realised he wasn’t clear as to what he meant but before he could fix it Iris questioned him, in an accusatory voice;

“Explains what?”

And she got it so wrong, he never meant anything bad, so he rushed to explain;

“Why you really know your stuff. About theatre and Shakespeare I mean. I couldn’t really understand half of what you were talking about.”

Iris rolled her eyes, not even a semblance of her impossible smile on her lips, and she instructed him seriously;

“You don’t have to flatter me.”

“I’m not — I — I’m — I know the stuff I’m good at and Shakespeare is not one of them, it’s yours though.”

Her eyes softened after that, but she looked away from his gaze, focusing on a spot on his wall and Barry wondered if there was some sort of mark there, he found stains in the walls of this dorm room that he wasn’t sure what kind of body fluids could have produced them. But now he couldn’t bring himself to look away from Iris, not when she offered in a small voice;

“They met doing Macbeth,” she said, adding for further explanation; “my parents, they met doing Macbeth.”

And suddenly it was like she was offering her whole world to him and Barry wondered what could he had possibly done right, but he tried steadying his voice, to keep her talking;

“Your dad is an actor as well?”

Iris looked back at him, the soft look still in her face as she told;

“He’s a musician, but they were part of the same theatre group in college. My mom was Lady Macbeth and my dad played Lord Macbeth.”

“That is romantic. Well, I mean, not Macbeth, but, you know.”

She graced him with a small smile and looked away again.

“I’ve never told that to anyone,” she said, and as she seemed to be talking more to herself than necessarily to him, Barry tried diverging the conversation a bit, praying she wouldn’t realise she was opening up to him only to proceed to shut down.

“So you’ve got all the cool genes,” he offered.

“I’m not so sure I did get them.”

“You did. I don’t have any of them so I should know. My dad is a doctor and my mom is a lawyer so I get the colour-organised-books genes.”

She smiled brightly at that and a self-satisfaction balloon seemed to inflate in his chest, giving him a bit more of courage, so he questioned;

“Is that what you want to be?”

“Cool?” she asked, raising her eyebrows at him.

“No, an actress.”

“God, no. No,” she flunked back down on his bed at her previous laying down position and added, staring at the ceiling; “I have no idea what I want to be.”

“Knowing what you don’t want to be helps too.”

“I should go,” she told him, standing up all the sudden, searching around his room for her shoes and her bag; “I don’t think either of us is in condition to think about Macbeth any further.”

“Yeah, ok,” Barry agreed even though he wanted so much for her to stay. It was only when her hand was already gripping the doorknob that he offered;

“Hey, Iris, there’ll be this party here on Saturday —”

“In your dorm room?” she asked and he wasn’t sure if she was mocking him or not, but he responded truthfully anyway;

“No, in the residence building, I mean, do you want to come?”

“As in a date?”

And Barry couldn’t tell what she wanted for the answer to be so he played off cool, or as cool as he could manage to be, his hand jumping to the nape of his neck despite his efforts otherwise;

“No — just — as in a party. It should be fun.”

And Iris’ response echoed his own thoughts;

“You don’t sound very convincing.”

“I’m not much of a party animal.”

“Really?”

And now she was mocking him, like he was so transparent to her, and maybe he was, maybe he was transparent to everyone because very few people could be as interesting and mysterious as Iris West. And Barry personally hadn’t met any of them.

“But it’s college, right? You’re supposed to try new things.”

“I — Yeah, maybe,” and even if she ended up not going, her smile would have been worth the question.

“Bye, Barry,” she said before closing his door behind her.

“Bye.”


	3. Chapter 3

Iris couldn’t explain why on earth she had decided to go to the party. She hadn’t even arrived and she was regretting it already, she was parking her car and she was regretting it and when it took her about 15 minutes to locate Barry Allen there only to find him deep in conversation with Becky Cooper, of all people, she decided she would never, ever, again in her life disregard whatever it was her gut was trying to tell her.

She contemplated leaving, pretending like she never showed up, to tell him next Monday that she had to pick up an extra shift at Jitterbugs after all, but he was wearing a red bow tie to a college party and this rush of affection for Barry Allen surged through her, especially when she would remember how surprisingly easy to talk to Barry Allen was, especially when you got him started on Harrison Wells’ theory on the acceleration of particles, and how much Iris enjoyed his noises of excitement as he explained to her some things she had no desire to ever understand, so she approached him. Him and Becky Cooper. Talking.  

“Hey,” Iris tried, keeping her face neutral. 

“Hi!” Becky Cooper responded to her looking like a kid who got caught with hands deep down the cookies jar and Iris almost cursed the moment Barry Allen batted those stupidly long eyelashes at Iris, making her come to this stupid party, but then he opened the biggest smile and said in the most enthusiastic high-pitched voice, while sucking up on the straw of his drink (and only Barry would pick a drink with straws);

“Iris, you came!”

“Yeah, I did,” she told him; “Can I talk to you?”

“Yeah, sure,” he said, a dopey smile playing on his lips, passing through Becky and Iris noticed how their heights matched perfectly and was suddenly left feeling short in more than one way.

“Did you know she’s professor Cooper’s daughter?” Barry asked Iris in a whisper and the way he was leaning in, he was at the very least tipsy.

“Oh,” she offered back. It was all she could manage to convey because he was standing very close to her, smelling like his fresh, usual self, despite the alcohol consumption. 

“Yeah. She went to school with us,” he said as if that was news for her.

“She did?” Iris asked. She was feeling like she had never left high school.

“You…” Barry started; “are you?” but then seemed to realise she was being sarcastic and stopped himself.

“Do you like Becky Cooper?” she questioned him.

“No! No!” and he shook his head slowly with each  _ no _ and stopped abruptly to add; “I don’t like her.”

He sounded absolutely truthful but Iris felt uneasy nonetheless. The same feeling in the pit of her stomach, the one she had to deal with throughout high school every time she would spot Barry Allen, was suddenly back after three weeks of apparently, a temporal disappearance. 

“She likes you,” Iris informed him and he shook his head his head again, the straw back in his lips as he mumbled;

“I don’t — I don’t think so.”

“Yeah, she does,” Iris insisted, but Barry kept shaking his head and when the movement ceased he closed his eyes like he was trying to stop the world from spinning and when his lids fluttered open again, Iris added with a small smile on her lips despite herself;

“I did suspect you are the type who doesn’t really notice,” because the truth was Barry Allen was cute and maybe Lizzie had been right all along and she had a crush on him.

“I’m busy noticing somebody else,” he informed her and Iris’ insides did a swoop at that. He was tall. Really, really, tall. She knew that and yet it would keep on surprising her.

“So… Barry,” Becky Cooper interrupted them; “you want to come with us or what?” she asked pointing at something that Iris refused to look at.

“No,” Barry shook his head again, cutting it very short this time; “thank you.”

“I’ll see you around then,” she said in a sweet voice, never acknowledging Iris, and Barry nodded in agreement. 

Iris watched Barry’s face as Becky walked away but he did not focus on Becky long, pretty soon his eyes were back on Iris, looking at her like she was  _ soft _ and she remembered exactly why she was scared of Barry Allen so she told him;

“You should have gone with her.”

“I didn’t want to,” he informed her, green eyes piercing her from behind his golden trims.

His free hand reached for her and Iris seemed to be glued in place as he brushed her hair behind her ear and said;

“You look very pretty tonight. I mean, you look very pretty always but I like your hair down.”

And she felt like crying, like there was something heavy sitting on her chest and she stepped away from his touch, out of necessity more than desire.

“You’re sweet, Barry,” she told him and there he was shaking his head that same way again and she needed him to stop doing that because he was about to convince her of something she shouldn’t be convinced of, but he asked, in a small voice;

“Why would you say it like that?”

“Like what?”

“Like it’s a bad thing?”

And it was her turn to shake her head, but he was reaching for her again and it was hard to breath.

“I should go,” she said, stepping out of his touch one more time.

“Iris,” he asked and she closed her eyes and shook her head again and when she opened them up, she saw his hurt face and the fact that she was pretty much the reason for it was exactly why she had to leave.

“Enjoy the rest of the party.”

She turned around and didn’t look back because the results of that would never be any good. She was glad that on the drive back, Iris was able to will all those feelings away, focus on the road and not have Barry Allen’s face flashing in her memory, and when she arrived home, she was done with the tears so she could avoid analysing them into a deeper level.

She was about ready to go to bed, just maybe a hot cup of tea would help, when she heard loud knocks on the door. Now Iris wouldn’t be startled by that if it wasn’t such a quiet neighbourhood or if her dad was home, but maybe it was one of her dad’s bohemian buddies looking for a couch for a drunken night; it happened before, usually not when Joe was out for a show, but it did.

Nonetheless she approached the front door carefully, the baseball bat in hand just in case, and when she opened the door she found a drunken person all right, but none of the ones she was expecting;

“Barry? What the hell —?” she asked, dropping the bat on floor with a loud thumping sound.

He looked disheveled and she was indeed right, messy hair suited him, but he didn’t look much like  _ Barry _ . 

“Why did you interrupt us then?”, he questioned her, his voice more steady than what Iris was expecting for it to be, his eyes wide open like they were trying to make sure she wouldn’t run again.

“What?”

“Why did you interrupted me and Becky? I — you — If you thought I should leave with her, why did you interrupt us then?”

And then Iris was shivering again. She was supposed to be done with Barry Allen for the night, he wasn’t supposed to follow her home and she was 100% sure that if he was sober he wouldn’t have, but he wasn’t, so here they were.

“Cause Becky Cooper is a nightmare. She has always been. She’s spiteful jerk.”

“That’s not a very nice thing to say,” he told her, like he was incredibly surprised that Iris could say something not nice, so she informed him;

“I’m not very nice.”

He was completely disarmed by that, his face turning back to its usual soft and kind state and he took a step towards her, his fingers grazing on her arms, left uncovered by her choice of pyjamas and it was all of a sudden hard to breath.

“Well, I think you’re nice,” he told her and Iris could see his body folding into hers so she took a step backwards.

“No, Barry, you don’t.”

“I do,” he nodded and with the same soft voice he added; “you don’t get to decide what I think of you.”

She shook her head again. Barry Allen was sweet and honest and kind and very probably incapable of hurting an ant, and yet, somehow, the way he kept looking at her, the way he kept reaching for her and getting her all wrong was hurting Iris so she spoke sharply, hoping that would make him go away;

“And you don’t get to be right about it.”

“I’m right. I think I’m right. I know I’m right,” he mumbled, his hands sliding down from her shoulders to her hands and he then held hers in his, trying to intertwine their finger and Iris took yet another step back, informing him;

“You are drunk.”

He shook his head again saying;

“Only a little, not really drunk, just tipsy, I like gin. Have you ever tried gin?”

She laughed at that wondering if he could possibly really know  _ what _ he had drunk and he really shouldn’t have driven to her house, it wasn’t all that close to campus.   

“You shouldn’t drive when you are drunk.”

And Barry looked around as if trying to find who she was talking to and then, spotting no one else, informed her;

“I didn’t drive here.”

“How did you —”

But he never let her finish her question, he informed her a little proudly;

“I walked.”

“That’s a three hour walk from campus.”

“An hour and 45 minutes,” he told her; “well, 47,” he corrected himself, then added, checking on his clock; “well, 58 now.”

“Barry,” she whined, and Iris did not appreciate what he did to her voice, it sounded too much like a mewl.

He took another step towards her and this time Iris didn’t move. She stood very still, curiosity getting the best out of her. Barry slid his hands down Iris’ arms again, pulling her to him, resting his forehead on hers, his warm breathing tingling her. Iris didn’t plan for her hands to find their way to the nape of his neck, she didn’t plan on smiling back after sensing him smiling against her, and she certainly didn’t plan on parting her lips, but somehow his lips found their way between hers and Barry tasted sweet. The tip of his tongue finding hers and his hands keeping her close by the waist.

She pulled away, her breathing heavy, and let her hand wander to his chest, to make sure his heart was beating as fast as hers and she felt light, weightless and that surprised her almost as much as the fact Barry Allen could kiss.

He offered her a giddy laugh and placed his lips softly against hers again but this time Iris turned her head a bit so he ended up kissing her cheek (which was not necessarily a bad thing) but got him questioning her;

“What? You didn’t like it? Cause I like it, you kiss good.”

He didn’t move away, he kept speaking in a whisper against her, his hands skimming under the hem of her top and she dangerously enjoyed them there, but she couldn’t let his choice of words to slide, so she asked;

“I kiss good?”

“Yeah, you do,” he said, pressing his lips against hers again.

“You kiss good too,” Iris conceded, pulling away.

“Well, I’ve kissed before, I’ve practiced,” he informed her.

“I’m sure.”

He smiled again, and aimed her lips again, but he wasn’t sober and he wouldn’t be kissing her if he was and this cold reality bursted into her so Iris interrupted him;

“No, Barry! That wasn’t invitation for you to kiss me again.”

And his face dropped like he had been kicked and stepped away, apologising;

“Sorry, I’m sorry. I — I’m sorry.”

He looked like someone under the rain and it was hard to breath again for a different reason than the kiss.

“It’s ok,” she reassured him; 

“Come on, I’ll drive you back to campus,” she said, reaching for her bag and her coat hanging on the hook by the door.

“No, it’s fine. I can walk home,” he told her.

“I’m not letting you walk another hour and 45 minutes.”

He looked puzzled for a second and then;

“No — my parent’s home. It’s 10 minutes from here, if that.”

“If you can walk on a straight line.”

He was already at the bottom of her porch’s step when he turned back at her and said;

“I’m sorry,” one last time.

Iris forced a smile on her lips and said;

“Bye, Barry.”

And he nodded at her;

“Bye.”


	4. Chapter 4

After the drunken debacle Barry was ready to apologise, beg for Iris’ forgiveness, promise her that nothing like that would ever happen again ( _what was he thinking? following her home like a creep_ ), that he would never put her in a position like that ever again.

But Iris never brought it up, when they met in class the next Monday, she acted like none of it had ever happened, and Iris brushed off all of his feeble attempts before he had the chance to actually say anything, so Barry followed her suit, maybe not as successfully as Iris because as it turned out he was wrong; it was possible for him to blush even more frequently around her, and perhaps he was acting even more awkwardly than the norm but she would still grace him with an occasional smile, the same one Barry was sure that defied some law of physics (probably gravity), so it sufficed.

He would think about it though, about their kiss, all the time. Beside the fact that he very probably had never embarrassed himself that much ever in his life, the kiss itself felt perfect. Barry was aware his choice of words was completely childish, but he was unable to describe it as something else, especially when he would think about the bubbles that popped in his lungs as he held her close by the waist, as he felt her hands strongly pressing him closer by the nape of his neck.

It didn’t help that she was the most beautiful creature to ever exist and that is was so easy to get lost in this haze of _Iris_ as she talked, her voice echoing through him.

“Hey, Barry! Barry! Focus on me!”

“Right. Right.”

“Ok, now, you can do this, I know you can, you just have to trust yourself.”

“Right.” He had a presentation, or rather, had his meltdown right before it. That was the reason Iris had him sat down on the bench right in front of the classroom ED-132, where they had Shakespeare: Literary Analysis.

“Now, you don’t wear necklaces, do you have a ring?” she asked, grabbing his hands in hers and once again it reminded him of when he pressed her lips against hers.

“What?”

“You don’t wear rings either.”

“Why would I?” he questioned, not really able to follow her thought-process.

“Ok, you wear a watch, that’ll work.”

“To what?”

She grabbed him by the chin, directing his gaze to her face and instructed seriously;

“When you think you’ll forget what you have to say, you turn the watch around on your wrist.”

“Why?” he asked, and maybe he was hearing it wrong because it wasn’t making much sense to him, maybe because her eyes were really distracting.

“I don’t know,” she told him; “I read it somewhere that’s a way of releasing the stress.”

He laughed at that;

“Oh, all right.”

She joined him in the laughing and it was a brilliant sound.

“All right. Come on, we can do this,” she told him, grabbing him by the hand and pulling him to the classroom.

And the truth was he was able to keep up in the presentation and do a relatively good job, barely stumbling on his words, surprised that Iris’ tip about the watch actually helped, and he was pretty confident of their success, until at the end of the class, professor Cooper requested for Iris to stay behind so they could speak. Barry waited for her on the same bench she had sat him on earlier that day, he was planning on asking her on a celebratory ice-cream date or maybe something warmer since it was the end of November, but now he was nervously twisting around, his mind conjuring the worse possible scenarios as to what was happening inside the classroom.

Barry tried reading her face when Iris stepped out, but the truth was she was insanely good at keeping it at neutral so he questioned;

“What did she want? Are we in trouble?”

“No,” Iris told him; “she said we did a good job.”

“So? Then what did she want?” he probed her.

“She wants for me to join the school newspaper,” Barry smiled and kept quiet as she continued; “she said she really enjoyed my writing in the paper we had to turn in last week and that as the faculty adviser for the school paper, she thinks I would be an incredible addition to the writing staff.”

Barry pulled her in for a hug, he couldn’t help it. It made no sense to be feeling proud of her, they were acquaintances, friends at the most, on a good day, when he was in a good mood he would concede himself the title, but this burst of pride bubbled through him anyway, so Barry lifted her from the ground, pirouetting a little and Iris let out a laugh that he had never heard before, and it was definitively the most brilliant sound.

“I think this is a celebration that calls for ice-cream,” she told him and it most certainly did.   

* * *

“Mint or chocolate?” Iris asked him, looking into the fridge of her home. Walking through her front door caused Barry some flashbacks of Iris in her pyjamas and a scarf on her head, of the bat dropped on the floor, and of how tiny she felt in his arms, but she invited him in all the same and she was happy, Barry could tell she was happy, and she had picked him to share it with.

“Oh, wow, I’m disappointed, Iris. I expected something a bit more adventurous from you, _mint or chocolate?_ I say both,” he answered her.

“All right,” she laughed; “both it is. Do you want get really crazy and put M&Ms on it?”

“Why not?” he asked, and then, after analysing all the things she had set up on the kitchen counter, he pointed out; “There’s only one bowl here.”

“I know,” she informed him; “it’s less stuff to clean afterwards.”

And then she looked at him with this intensity in her eyes and Barry felt stuck on place under her gaze, like an insect in amber.

“Right. Right,” he managed to agree.

“Don’t worry, I’ll give your own spoon, so you won’t get my cooties,” Iris told him, which, ironic considering if she had cooties he would probably have caught them already.

“I’m not worried about your cooties,” he told her; “I mean, I know you don’t have cooties, cooties aren’t even real, they’re a childish term for an imaginary germ and for the repellent quality of something invisible that could be transmitted — but you are not stupid — you obviously know that — I — I’ll be quiet now.”

He stared at the ground, cursing himself for rambling and mumbling but Iris didn’t comment on it, she handed him the spoon and they shared the ice cream in silence. When he placed his spoon down to face Iris, standing by his side, he found her staring at him and this electric shiver spread through Barry as Iris placed her spoon down as well.

She pulled Barry to her by his bow tie and he held his breath in, his heart thumping in his ears, and this tingling feeling spreading throughout his body.

He expected for her kiss to be forceful, just as her hands keeping him close, but when her lips reached his, it was soft, and a little cold and sweet from the ice-cream, but trying, curious. Her hands moved to cradle his face and his found their way down her back, keeping her against him as he pulled away to ask;

“Really?”

And Iris merely nodded in response, her lips already on his again, backing him up against the kitchen counter and Barry thought, if they managed to synchronise their breathing, they could probably keep doing that for the rest of his life, especially with the way Iris pulled his shirt out of his pants to sneak her hands under the shirt, he was a huge fan of her fingers skimming through his belly but when a moan escaped his throat Iris lips left his, her hands came to it instead, clearing the string of spit between them and Barry said;

“Oh, wow,” only realising how ridiculous it sounded once it was out of his mouth.

“What?” Iris asked; “I kiss good?” and she was definitively mocking him, her smile would never let him guess otherwise, but Barry couldn’t care less. He closed his eyes and leaned into her again. Kissing was fun. So much fun, so much more fun than when you were drunk, so he asked;

“Who would have thought kissing is so much more fun when you’re not drunk?”

“You’ve only ever kissed when you were drunk?” Iris questioned him and only then Barry realised he had said something really stupid.

“Oh, shit!” and Iris smiled a different smile at him as he noticed it was probably the first time she ever heard him cursing, but Barry added; “I wish I hadn’t said that.”

“Why?” she asked, her eyes curious on him.

“That other night — I — you,” he took a deep breath. He should rectify his lie, really, that was the best plan; “you were my first kiss.”

“Really?” she asked, her eyes big at him.

“Yeah, really.”

“And your second too?”

“Yeah,” he guaranteed her, not really understanding how she could think he would have kissed another person between then and now.

Iris smiled softly at that, cradling his face again, pulling him back down to her;

“You make it very easy Barry Allen.”

And he would ask what she meant by that if her tongue wasn’t licking his lips open again. There wasn’t much time to enjoy it though, because pretty soon afterwards, there was a noise coming from the front door and a man’s voice carrying;

“Iris? Are you home?”

Iris pushed herself off of Barry and managed to fix his shirt under his pants again and move about two feet away before the man Barry recognised as her father entered the kitchen.

“Hey, daddy.”

“Hello,” he answered, his eyes fixed on Barry.

“This is Barry Allen, he’s —” Iris began to explain but her father cut her off;

“Project partner.”

“Hi, sir,” Barry tried; “Mr. West, sir.”

“How was the presentation?” he questioned

“It was good,” Iris answered, her eyes traveling between Barry and her dad frantically; “we did good, right?”

“Right, yeah, good. You were very good.”

And her father let out a sound close  to _un-hun_ and Barry took that as his cue to leave.

“I should go,” he said; “thanks for the ice-cream, and the — yeah. I’m going now.”

“I can drive you back to campus,” Iris offered but something in her dad’s face told Barry he better not take her up on that.

“No, no, I can take a bus. It’s still early.”

“All right, I’ll walk you out then.”

Iris closed the front door behind them, leaning against it, her eyes studying him as she offered;

“I’ll see you in class, then.”

“Right, class,” Barry agreed, stepping closer to her; “one week from now, I’ll see you in class.”

“Or before class,” she suggested with a smile and Barry was already leaning on her, bumping their noses together, agreeing in a whisper;

“Yeah, I like this plan better, before class.”

“Ok.”

“Yeah.”

He tried searching for her lips with his but Iris turned her face, offering him her cheek, justifying;

“My dad is probably watching.”

Barry took a step back at that.

“I don’t think he likes me very much.”

“He doesn’t like anyone very much,” she comforted him but Barry wasn’t sure how much of a comfort it actually was.

Iris pulled him down by the tie once again, placing a kiss on his cheek this time.

“Bye, Barry,” she offered with a bright impossible smile, and Barry smiled back;

“Bye.”


	5. Chapter 5

After their first kiss (well second first kiss), Iris found that things between her and Barry lost most of their awkwardness and became easy always instead of easy most of the time. As it turned out touching each other was the most successful and pleasant way to fill the silences that would arise between them sometimes. So they did. Touch each other. All the time. Pretty much anywhere as long as there was no one there with them.

At the moment, the chosen place was Barry’s dorm room, which was the most commonly elected place if the goal of the meeting was to get naked alongside the kissing, although they had had successful runs in places such as women’s bathrooms and a very secluded corner of the main library. They weren’t naked ones, they were mostly  _ take off only the clothes you can’t get around _ , and Iris had to admit, having usually perfectly groomed Barry Allen completely naked, breathing heavily, all sweaty and hair misaligned, by her side, had to be satisfactory in more than one way. So Iris watched him for a little while, his eyes closed as one last moan escaped his throat, giving place to a self-satisfied smile on his lips and who would’ve guessed Barry Allen could be conceited and arrogant?

She punched his shoulder just to let him know she didn’t appreciate it and all it did was get a laugh out of him, but he opened his eyes and reached for her, hugging her close, nuzzling on her collarbones and intertwining their sticky legs once again and she was suddenly afraid of how much she enjoyed it, being on his bed, him, naked, kissing her delicately like he was tasting her for the first time and then he told her;

“I’m pretty sure you’re scientifically proven to be the greatest thing in the universe.”

And Iris would have liked to give him a clever answer, mocked the so called  _ science _ of the fact, but he sounded so genuine, like he truly believed in it, and her eyes and nose burned and she couldn’t even recognise the sound that left her lips, probably a sob or maybe a gasp, as her own.

Barry seemingly understood it though, pulling away to study her face, a sudden serious expression on his and then, he was the same constantly-nervous-and-a-bit-insecure-boy he had always been, with a hint of awkward-energy running through him again as he asked;

“What? What’s wrong?”

And maybe it was because Iris learned from a young age that people who you love and who love you back are the ones that hurt you the most; maybe it was because she was starting to realise that she did love him; or maybe it was because her dad taught her to be tough, and whenever she was with Barry she was left feeling anything but tough but there were tears escaping her eyes and there was this glisten of pure terror on Barry’s face in return as he asked again;

“What? Did I do something wrong? Iris?”

She placed a kiss on his bottom lip to calm him down. It wasn’t his fault per se; it was how he made her feel, which had something to do with Barry, but it also had something to do with her, even if she couldn’t explain why, or how, the truth was;  

“You make me soft.”

Iris watched as Barry’s whole face changed into this gentle, bright thing and she’s filled with the same warmth again and she wanted to melt, or part of her did anyway;  

“And you don’t like that?” he asked her softly. 

There were moments that she didn’t mind being soft with him; she just wished he wouldn’t turn her soft  _ all _ the time.

“It’s just scary.”

“You don’t have to be scared of me.”

The truth was, after he kissed her the night of the party, Iris tried really hard to stop thinking about Barry Allen, but it turned out to be a much more complicated task than she was expecting. She never let him talk about it though, because she didn’t want to hear how sorry he was that he had kissed her, she didn’t want to hear how he would have never done that if he wasn’t drunk or how all he wanted was to go back being friends, so she never allowed him to talk and whenever she managed, she also didn’t allow herself to think about it.

But then he pulled her into a hug and seemed so genuinely happy about something that wasn’t about him, it was about her and only her;  _ she  _ got offered a place on the school paper,  _ she  _ was the one their professor held behind to give a compliment, but Barry waited for her, he smiled so big and lifted her off the ground. He was happy  _ for her  _ and Iris never had anyone being so happy for her before. Well, probably her parents but parents don’t count because when they are happy for their kids they are also happy for themselves, for having raised them so they could achieve whatever it is that they’ve achieved.

So Iris kissed Barry Allen, tasting like ice-cream and smelling fresh and clean and minty-and-rosemary-like (his shampoo, she would later find), and feeling warm under her finger tips and emitting pleasant-like sounds, and after that, all she wanted  _ all _ the time was to get those sounds out of him one more time, and then again. But to do so, he was also getting these sounds out of her.

“You don’t have to be scared of me,” he promised her one more time, with a soft kiss and Iris bit his bottom lip until it bled and then agreed;

“Ok, ok.”

And Barry was already licking her bellybutton and kissing under it and so she trusted him, she let herself to, let herself not fear it and just enjoy, his hands on her thighs and his warm breathing and the tip of his nose opening her up.

* * *

When the winter break arrived, Iris thought it might break along their newly settled routine. Her mom called her to inform that her company was doing a traveling show during winter so Iris wouldn’t have to make her usually annual decision of Christmas in Central City or Atlantis, but Barry had informed her that the Allens normally made a skiing trip this time of the year;

“Come with us,” Barry asked her for the thousandth time as they waited in line for tickets for the drama school production of Macbeth. It felt fitting: it was their last night together, he and his parents were leaving the next afternoon and they would spend 10 days apart, which was theoretically not much, but it was longer than they went without seeing each other since the semester started, let alone since they started, well, doing this that they were doing, probably dating, but the word sounded threatening all the sudden.

“Barry, no, it’s too soon.”

He pouted at her as she requested two seats next to each other to the attendant.

He held her hand the whole time that night, throughout the play, on their short walk to her car, and on the drive over home he let his rest on her thigh, and when they reached the neighbourhood, Barry insisted she didn’t have to drop him home, that he could walk, that he didn’t mind the snow, so she parked in her garage and Barry walked her to her front door and Iris was planning on spending at least 15 minutes sucking on his lips under the mistletoe hanging from her front door when her dad opened the door abruptly behind them.

“Hey, Mr. West, sir.”

Iris found it funny how Barry would always call her dad  _ Mr. West, sir. _ She would tease him about it if her dad hadn’t been so rude to him since the day of the ice-cream; as it was she was torn between annoyance with her dad’s complete lack of collaboration and amusement in watching Barry squirm. 

It was a little sad though because Iris could tell how much Barry wanted her dad’s approval, but she knew he pretty much would never get, she would be happy if her dad would collaborate just a bit and would accept it instead of fighting against it so much.

So when her dad opened the door that night and suggested it was time for her to come in, Iris asked for Barry to wait on the porch just a little as she talked to her dad;

“This isn’t funny, dad,” she informed him, closing the door behind her.

“I agree, it’s not funny at all.”

“You’re being extremely rude to him.”

“Well, he has never done anything that seemed to indicate that I should treat him otherwise.”

“Stop,” Iris shouted and her dad opened his eyes big at her.

Iris was tired of how many times these past weeks he had told her that  _ Bartholomew  _ was not good enough for her. She was mad at how he didn’t even bother to ask her if they were together or what they were, if Barry treated her nicely or if she was happy. She had heard him complain and snag breakfast, lunch and dinner for weeks now, he had pretended that Barry was invisible both of the times they had gone to Jitterbugs to watch him sing and Iris had had enough, so she continued in a calmer voice; 

“I like him and that should be enough reason, but if it’s not, and you cannot do it for him, or for me for that matter, you do it for yourself,” she instructed him, and Joe asked;

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means he invited me to spend Christmas with him and the reason I said no was because I didn’t want to leave  _ you  _ spending Christmas alone.”

It wasn’t absolutely truth. It was probably half of the reason, or a third of it. Going seemed to make things too _official_ between them and sometimes she was still afraid that if she would dive too deep she would drown, the other third of it being that Iris hadn’t met his parents yet and a trip seemed less than an ideal opportunity for it. Barry had invited her over twice in the last three weeks they had spent together, but Iris was avoiding it and the fact that he lived on campus had conveniently helped her. 

But she also knew her father, and she knew editing those parts out was the only way she would ever get him to behave a little. She also knew he would be impossible until Barry came back because what she had just done was the worse possible thing she could have done, she had threaten her allegiance to him.

It still hurt to see his chest deflating from effect of her words, but she couldn’t take it back now, so she concluded in a soft and kind voice;

“Now, Barry is leaving tomorrow for several, several, days and I’m going to miss him, so right now I’ll go back on the porch and kiss him until the tip of my nose is frozen. Please don’t watch it.”   

When she stepped outside again, she found Barry pacing up and down, his beanie down his ears, his scarf covering up to his nose, and his gloved hands down the pockets of his coat, but she could tell by his eyes how he smiled on cue when seeing her so she kissed him warm for a long time that night, wishing once or twice that they had made a pitstop to his dorm-room before coming home, but at some point they would have to say goodbye.

“Have fun,” she instructed him between peppering goodbye kisses on his cheeks and nose and jawline and eyebrows and lips; “but not too much fun, and miss me a lot, a lot a lot,” she said; “and don’t you dare kiss anyone else,” she concluded and suddenly his giggles stopped under her and he looked at her, a serious expression, one that he would hardly ever assume, on his eyes and he asked;

“You are my girlfriend, right?”

“Why are you asking me that?”

“Because, you just said I shouldn’t kiss anyone like that wasn’t implied.”

She answered that with a kiss, slow and deep, wishing it would reassure him when she couldn’t find the words for it, wishing it would reassure herself that she could say them out loud and that Barry would take and cherish them, so with a deep breath she added;

“I’m your girlfriend, and you are my boyfriend, and I was not kidding one little bit, don’t you dare look at anyone else, because you are a taken man.”

He gave her a bright smile at that and every now and again, Iris would feel weightless in his arms, and now was one of those times that she suspected she could float away. Barry placed a chaste kiss on her lips and she said;

“Have a good trip.”

“I’ll miss you.”

“Bye, Barry.”

And he held her for a whole minute longer before answering;

“Bye.”   


	6. Chapter 6

Barry was about to ring the bell to Iris’s place when the door opened abruptly revealing Iris’s father on the other side. Barry was getting used to him — to Joseph — to the way he shamelessly and vocally disapproved of Barry and of his relationship with Iris and it took him a while but about three months after the Christmas break, Barry had realised there was probably very little possibility of changing Joe’s mind.

He questioned about every single thing Barry said, and the one time Barry tried to have a conversation with him, Joseph informed him that it wouldn’t matter what he did or said, he knew Barry was too weak to take care of his daughter. So Barry had given up. Or mostly given up. He still wished the man would just give him a chance, but he also wasn’t putting up with it any longer. Damn his nose bleeds, he was answering in the same tone.

“Hello, Mr. West. Hi, sir.”

“Bartholomew.”

That was another thing; Joe positively refused to call him Barry.

“It is Barry, sir. Barry,” he said pushing his glasses up his nose; “Like I’ve told you yesterday, and last week, and last month.”

“What’s wrong with Bartholomew?”

“I go by Barry, sir.”

“Do you, now?”

Barry missed his dorm. Ever since the Summer Holidays had started and he was dorm-less and temporally back at his parent’s home, things had been more difficult to manage. Not that his mom and dad were anywhere near as uncooperative as Joe; they weren’t. They both loved Iris (not that Barry thought possible otherwise), and it wasn’t like they didn’t manage to get naked anytime they wanted to, they were good at being sneaky, but Barry missed her sleepovers, however infrequent they were, he missed waking up to Iris mumbling nonsense by his side and he missed having a parent-free zone and he missed not being around her house so much, which in turn, guaranteed less encounters with her father.

“Is Iris home?” Barry asked, and Joe, still blocking the entry, responded;

“Yes, she is.”

And it really bothered Barry how everything with Joe had to be step by step;

“May I come in?”

“See, the problem is I’m leaving.”

“But Iris is home?”

“Yes, she is.”

Barry prayed he had enough breath on his lungs to manage to finish the sentence he was about to utter;

“See, _my_ problem is I promised her I would meet her here, and I make good on my promises.”

Before Joe had time to respond — and Barry was sure he had a nasty response ready and that he would pay for using Joe’s words to attack back at him — he heard noises from inside, and then Iris was peeking her head behind her father and greeting Barry;

“Hey, babe,” she said in her we-are-in-public-but-I’m-still-calling-you-babe voice, which was very different from her we-are-alone-so-I’m-calling-you-babe voice and her we-are-fucking-so-I’m-calling-you-babe voice all of those unlike her I’m-calling-you-Barry-but-I’m-purring-it-like-a-cat voice. Barry enjoyed cataloguing those, and some others, and playing this game where he tried to guess which one she would use next.

“Hi,” he answered her, and unlike Iris, he couldn’t really filter any of his instinctive reaction, so he would always sound like a dumbfounded fool in love, but he didn’t mind because every time he would offer her an _I love you,_ she would say it back and it was just a little bit impossible how he got Iris West saying in a sweet and soft voice _I love you too_ to him. To Barry Allen.

“Come in,” she invited and Joe took that as his defeat, stepping out of the way and wishing Iris;

“Have fun at your lunch, honey.”

“Your sarcasm is not helping, dad,” Iris answered sharply and that got a belly-laugh out of Joe, who for the first time, shared a joke with Barry, instructing him;

“Careful, she bites when her mom is in town.”

Francine had come to a visit after Barry and Iris had decided to spend the summer in Central City and today they were having lunch with her so Barry would get to meet her.

They had briefly considered a trip to Atlantis before summer started, but then Barry got an internship at Mercury Labs, a paid internship that was going to allow him to, with help from his parents, rent a real apartment off campus with a bathroom all for him and everything, so Iris had decided to take the opportunity and work all the extra shifts at Jitterbug, so she could save a little money for when school started. But Barry suspected that a bit of Iris’s willingness about spending the summer home was also about her avoiding her mother. She wouldn’t talk about it, but Barry knew her enough by now; Iris avoided that subjects that would upset her.  

They had never really addressed the Joe-situation; Iris would, every now and again, make a comment to Joe himself and side with Barry when there was a resemblance of discussion going on, but they had never actually talked about it. Regardless Barry could tell how the striking contrast between his parents’ reaction to their relationship and Joe’s reaction would every now and again make Iris uncomfortable, and despite what Iris kept telling him, that her mom and her dad were completely different and that Francine would very likely love Barry, he was struggling to believe it, especially because he had never seen Iris fidget around so nervously before.

After Joseph left, Barry followed Iris to her bedroom while she sharply listed instructions about the day at him. They were seeing an apartment before lunch and then two afterwards and he was hoping and praying that today would be the day that the haunted apartment hunting would end. Iris was the one going with him to all of those visits because as he argued, after himself, she would be the one to spend the most time in his apartment.

Now she talked about the realtor and something about one of the places being really close to a subway station and how that would get him to campus pretty quickly the days he didn't feel like walking, but they would have to pay attention to the natural light or something to that effect, but Barry wasn’t really listening.

Iris was changing out of her pyjamas and Barry found way more interesting to watch her boobs bouncing as she walked across her bedroom topless, applying her lipstick and trying to pick appropriate clothes for the day and aimlessly pulling her hair up in her customary bun.

“Are you even listening to me?” Iris asked him and Barry nodded from his seated position on her bed, more out of convenience than with the intent of a lie, pulling Iris to him and placing a kiss on her collarbones and then another one and then one on her breastbone, right in the middle of her boobs and her nipples hardened at that, so he brought his hands to them, grazing his fingertips on it before placing a wet kiss on her left tit, but Iris pushed him away saying;

“You’ll make us late.”

“It will take five minutes,” he argued.

“You and I both know it’s not gonna take five minutes,” she decided, reaching for the pretty lilac bra laying on her bed and clasping it behind her back turning his aim unreachable, so Barry placed a kiss on her belly button instead and she pushed him off again, forcefully this time and said in a melted voice;

“Barry, please!”

“I miss you,” he whined in response.

“Well, I’m here,” she said, pulling her stockings up her legs.

“You know what I mean,” he argued and apparently she didn’t because her answer was;

“We had sex yesterday. Can’t you take 12 hours? Maybe you should do some solo exercises,” and as ridiculous as it was, Barry felt all his blood rushing to his face with the implication. Which was so completely ridiculous, she had watched him doing that for God’s sake, but he still found that engaging in those activities and talking about them were different things.

“No,” he explained; “I just — I miss not being in a hurry, you know? Just being naked,” he explained traveling his hands down her belly and Iris had this thing with bellies (his and hers he had noticed), so Barry knew she would shutter.

“Well,” she smiled at him, cradling his face sweetly, and he proudly identified that as his smile, the one she wouldn’t allow for her lips to form in front of anybody else; “let’s find you an apartment and then we can be naked all the time.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” he promised her and Iris indulged him with an _ok._

* * *

 

When they arrived at Iris’s favourite restaurant, Francine was already waiting for them. Barry felt his breath getting worked up and Iris’s tightened the grip on his hand as they made their way over the table. Given all the things he had heard Iris and Joseph say about her, it surprised Barry to see she was genuinely a warm person.

Barry was thankful for not being the topic of conversation throughout lunch, when Francine focused on questioning Iris about school and if she had picked her major and siding with Joseph in saying that Iris should quit the waitressing job and focus on her undergrad and Iris rolled her eyes at that exactly like she did every time Joe would suggest it.

It was only when Iris left for the ladies room after lunch and before dessert that Francine asked him how Joe was treating him.

“Yeah, he doesn’t like me very much,” Barry said, playing with the salt and pepper placed on the table.

“He doesn’t like me very much either,” Francine laughed and all of a sudden, Barry could see Iris in her eyes.

“Listen, Barry, don’t worry, ok? Joe was never going to like anyone Iris would choose,” she guaranteed him and Barry was at a loss as to how to respond, so he stayed silence and Francine continued;

“Joe thinks Iris needs someone to protect her because that’s what he does and he thinks you are not capable of it because, for him, no one is, and the truth is if he thought you were, he would resent you for it.”

And Barry suspected that wasn’t all of it, but it was part of it, and it was nice to have verbal confirmation, even though he wasn’t exactly sure how much Francine could actually know about that since she had never seen Barry and Joseph ever interacting.

“Yeah, maybe, but I do think there’s more than just a general dislike there,” he argued before he could help himself.

“Joe thinks she’s a 8 year old girl jumping rope in front of home but he forgets that she always knew what she wanted, even before that. I already couldn’t dress her when she was 3. She was this tiny little thing and she would tell me that she couldn’t wear those kind of socks showing with her pretty skirts.”

Barry smiled at that, and listened to the other stories of Iris Francine had. Joe would never share something like this with Barry and it was weirdly satisfying to have someone who loved her too to actually like him, and later that day, when Iris and him were laying on his bed in silence, and he was processing everything while brushing his fingers through her hair; he told Iris;

“I like your mom.”

“Of course you do,” she said in return and Barry slipped from under her so he could face Iris properly and try to understand what she meant by that and she explained it before he could question her;

“She isn’t here. She’s never here. She gets to be nice because she only gets the fun parts of having a kid, Christmas and vacations, but it was my dad who sat at the hospital with me when my appendix burst and who checked on my homework every night for so many years.”

He tried very hard to not let that hurt him but it sounded too much like she was saying that the way Joseph acted towards him was fine, was all right, because after all, he had raised her so he was allowed to treat her boyfriend like crap, so the accusatory tone in his voice was there despite the fact that Barry had no desire of having an argument with her;

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means she doesn’t get to be rude,” she informed him and Barry recognised she was wearing her defensive tone.

“And Joseph does?” he asked accusingly and he didn’t want to, didn’t want to accuse her. Barry knew this situation couldn’t be easy for her; he knew she would always side with him, but the truth was it still hurt and hearing her speak like her dad had some right in saying Barry wasn’t good enough for Iris.

“Barry,” she complained but they were having this conversation. Iris stood up and Barry, sitting up on the bed, watched her pacing, which wasn’t very characteristic of Iris.

“Well, does he?” he insisted; “I mean do you think the way he treats me is fine.”

“No, Barry! I don’t, you know that,” she affirmed, a hurt look in her eyes.

“You never say anything,” he mumbled.

“That is not fair,” Iris said firmly.

“I don’t want for your father to hate me, that’s not what I wanted and I don’t think I’ve ever done something to justify it —”

“You haven’t —” she agreed

“Then how about you don’t judge me because I like your mom better?” he asked, his voice not as soft as he wished for it be.

“My mom left me when I was 9 years old,” Iris explained and Barry already regretted saying it because it really wasn’t fair, so he kept quiet as Iris continued;

“She asked me to choose between her and my dad,” and Barry did not know this part; “and when I said I wouldn’t leave, she left anyway, so you don’t get to judge me for liking my dad better.”

“That’s not —” and he wasn’t judging her, he really wasn’t, he didn’t really know what he was doing, but he understood; “Iris, that’s not what I’m doing. That’s not. I get that, I understand that your dad is very important to you and I know your mom left and that she hurt you —”

“Yeah, she did.”

“I get that. I just don’t know what to do,” and he meant about her father but he wasn’t sure that was clear. Something in his eyes or his voice must have convinced her nonetheless because she stood right in front of him, her knees nudging his as she spoke;

“I’m sorry, babe, but my dad is never gonna like you. Maybe he’ll get to a point where he’s nicer and less resistant of it, but if I push too hard, it will have the opposite effect, and I’m trying to manage it, I’m really trying and I’m sorry that hurts you I don’t want to hurt you —”

“Iris, no, no!” he pulled her in his laps, trying to catch his breath and willing the fear that she was about to run, away; “I’m not — you are not hurting me. That’s not — I just wish it was easier.”

“Yeah, me too,” she agreed and then she grew quiet and they stayed that way for a while until Iris took his glasses off his face, placing a kiss on each shut eye and tracing his eyelashes with the pad of her finger.

He flipped them over, laying on the bed again and kissed her bottom lip as a reminder that he could and that itself was enough, was worth anything.   

“I love you.”

“I love you too,” she answered, hands on the back of his neck, pulling his hair, her nails on his scalp and he kissed her again, teeth colliding this time and her legs moved to fit him between them, but when he pulled away she said;

“I should go.”

“No. Don’t go. I don’t like it,” he whined.

“You don’t like it?” and Barry liked her smile and her mocking tone and how it was confirmation that they were fine. They were good.

“I don’t like how you’re always going.”

She brushed his hair off his forehead and argued;

“Half of those times you’re the one going.”

“Well, I think we should both stay then.”

But Iris pushed him off of her, justifying;

“I have a shift tonight.”

He just looked at her, making his best puppy face and maybe that would get her to change her mind, but Iris laughed at him and informed;

“You can pout all you want. I’m already late.”

“I don’t want to pout. I want to kiss.”

“I really do have to go,” she repeated, slipping away from his arms, grabbing her shoes and sitting on his armchair to slip them on and Barry told her;

“I’m closing with the second apartment we saw today, I mean, the first one from the afternoon, the one you really liked.”

“You don’t have to pick it because I like it.”

He smiled at that. She must have known that wasn’t truth. Maybe it was half truth; he could pick another one and then deal with Iris’s _I told you so_ face for as long as the contract were valid, but no matter what it would have something wrong with the apartment that would cause the _I told you so_ face.

“Yeah, I do,” he said.

“Yeah, you do,” she agreed with a smile, but the truth was it had been his favourite too, so he assured her;

“I liked it too, so it’s not all for you.”

Back being fully dressed and ready to leave, she placed one last kiss on his lips, cradling his face and Barry brought his hands to her arms, to keep her in place a little bit longer and informed her;

“I will remember your naked promise though, so all I’m saying is you better make good on it.”

“Do you want me to show up naked or can I lose the clothes while I’m there?” she questioned, this playful expression in her eyes and he wondered how he got so lucky as to have Iris West falling for him.

“I think second option is probably better,” he said, placing his glasses back on so he could watch her leave.

“All right. Bye, Barry.”

“Bye.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And after that I have one more chapter left! Thanks to everyone following the story!!!


	7. Chapter 7

Iris looked up from her computer screen when she heard Julie saying  _hey, Allen_ , which was not a common sentence to hear around the newsroom of the school paper, and sure enough there was Barry, gangly walking into the room like he didn’t know what to do with his limbs, pushing his glasses up his nose as he greeted Julie back.

But Iris wasn’t the only one to notice Barry’s presence; before she could process anything else, Becky Cooper was breathing down Iris’s boyfriend, questioning;

“Barry, thinking about joining the paper?”

“No, actually,” he answered taking a step back and Iris couldn’t help the smile at that; “have you seen Iris?” he asked; “I need to talk to her.”

Iris was torn between interrupting Becky by making her uncomfortable, and watching Barry squirm his way out of a girl flirting with him, but the thought of him entertaining someone else, someone not Iris herself, pushed her out of her chair and to his side, hands on his arm and a face that was hopefully telling Becky  _back off, he’s mine._   

“Hey, babe,” she greeted him and Barry turned towards her, looking her up and down, a big smile spreading on his lips.

“Hey, hi, hi,” he said enthusiastically.

“Hi,” she smiled at him. It was always satisfactory to have Barry, who had pretty much seen her in the most indecent and unattractive situations, to look at her like she was surprisingly beautiful.

“You look very pretty today,” he told her and Becky took that as her cue to leave them alone.

Iris pressed herself closer to him, fixing the inclination of his bow tie as she told him;

“I’m trying a new lipstick, we can test if it is smudge proof later.” 

Barry’s eyes traveled from her eyes to her lips and she would have kissed him if there wasn’t about 15 people around them. It was the end of the semester and everyone was trying finish things up so they could leave for the winter break which meant a packed newsroom. 

When Barry didn’t agreed to her offer though, Iris decided there was something more than just I-haven’t-seen-you-since-yesterday-so-I-miss-you to his visit, so she questioned;

“Is there something wrong?”

“No, no. I’m done for the semester, you know, handed in my last paper,” he looked around the room then back at her again and asked; “Can you take a break? I wanted to take you somewhere before the sunset.”

“I just have to finish revising my article and then I’m done for the semester too. Can you wait five minutes?”

“Five minutes?” he asked like she was the one always estimating the time she would take incorrectly.

“Yeah, five minutes,” she guaranteed him. 

She couldn’t really blame him; the end of the semester was always a difficult time, and increased stress plus seeing less of each other for lack of time was a dangerous combination. Iris felt like she was on edge herself, but Barry answered with a sweet  _ok_.

There was nothing sweet about his attitude five minutes later though, as he pulled her after him up the stairs of the Observatory building, not that far from the English Department building, but Iris was wearing heels and it felt like Barry, in all his rush, which was genuinely starting to worry her, had forgotten that, so as he pushed the door of the roof of the observatory open, waiting for her to step outside, she asked; 

“Barry, what’s with the hurry?”

“Nothing, I just wanted to get here before sunset.”

“Ok,” she said passing by him; “You know it is cold, right? I mean, I like the roof as much as the next person, but can’t you take me somewhere warmer?”

Barry froze in place to that, dismantling like a snowman under rain, and asking;

“Really?”

“Barry, what’s going on?”

“Do you really not want to be here right now?” he asked and he sounded so disappointed, like Iris had just ruined some great plan, so she reassured him; 

“No, no, come on,” she said pulling him to the roof, towards her; “tell me why you wanted to take me here.”

“Our first date was here. I mean, not date, date, we weren’t dating yet but yeah, that afternoon when we were —”

“Discussing Macbeth, but not really discussing Macbeth?”

“Yeah,” he smiled softly, “after the party and I was afraid it was gonna be weird but it wasn’t.”

“I remember,” she assured him. 

Her and Barry had often disappeared to the roof of the Observatory, it was a place where Iris felt like they were away from the rest of the world.

Barry nodded to himself, and taking a deep breath, he told her;

“Iris, I — I  had a crush on you since that day in high school when you told me you liked my bow tie.”

_So really since the day they met_ , but Iris didn’t point that out; Barry looked nervous, how he used to be sometimes when they first started dating, so she decided to go with the kind approach;

“Well, I guess I had a crush on you too.”

“Yeah, but then you asked to be my partner and do the presentation with me and I realised it was more real, you know, cause you are better than any fantasy version of you I could imagine.”

“Good,” she smiled.

“I love you, Iris,” he said; “and I know I joke about how you’re always leaving and I how I don’t like that — but I do like having you with me. I like you there when I wake up and when I go to sleep and when I’m doing the most mundane thing, I want you there with me, always, now and always. Because you make me better, you make my life better.”

And that was when she realised what Barry was about to do and this warmth hit her whole body abruptly;

“Oh my God,” she said, taking a step back, her breath suddenly short; “Are you proposing?”

Barry patted the pockets of his coat guaranteeing her;

“I have — I have a ring here,” and then he reached for a tiny velvety red box, opening it to her and all the air left Iris’s lungs as he said simply; “Here,” like that wasn’t such a big deal, like every nerve in her body wasn’t suddenly hyperaware of everything, tingling from the roots of her hair to her toes.

“Oh my God,” she repeated, and it was a beautiful ring. It was perfect. She prayed he took one of her rings to have the measurement because once it was on her finger, it would be painful to ever take off.

“Well?” Barry asked, looking at her hopefully.

“You have to ask,” she instructed him. She wasn’t about to take a half proposal, so she repeated; “you have to ask.”

And Barry went on his knee in the melted snow and asked;

“Iris, will you marry me?”

She felt the warm tears streaming down her face as she nodded;

“Yes!”

Barry pulled himself up; he tried taking both of her hands in his, but one was still occupied by the red box and he asked, like he couldn’t believe in what he was hearing; 

“Yeah?”

And Iris nodded as Barry pulled her into a hug, warm and steady and she could hear his beating heart and smell his shampoo and his aftershave and it was her sweet and kind and beautiful Barry. Hers and no one else’s and Iris didn’t have any doubts this was the person she wanted to share her life with.

“Let me see the ring,” she asked pulling away.

“Do you like it?” Barry questioned a little insecure, like she wouldn’t. 

“I love it.”

“Really? Because you will have to wear it for the rest of your life, so if you don’t like it, now is the time to let me know.”

She smiled at him;

“I love it. I love you.”

He grabbed the wrong hand first and after Iris pointed that out, Barry corrected himself, slipping the ring on her finger and it fit perfectly and seeing it there sent a shiver down her spine.

“I’m glad you brought me to the roof,” she told him after a kiss because she truly couldn’t imagine a more beautiful place with the way the sun was setting, glowing orange and pink down the sky, and Barry pulled her top lip between his, muffling his words with a kiss;

“Ok, good.”

* * *

 

After some discussion, Iris and Barry decided they would tell their parents on Christmas Eve: the Allens were, for the first time since Barry was about 3, not taking their skiing trip, and Nora had volunteered to host the diner, offering a neutral territory so Iris’s mom and dad could spend Christmas together for the first time since Francine had left for Atlantis, and even though it felt childish to admit, Iris couldn’t wait to just actually wear the ring all the time.

They weren’t expecting too much of an enthusiastic reaction, which was why they waited in the first place, and Iris felt like Joseph would be better behaved if Barry’s parents were there as well. Nonetheless Barry wasn’t even in the middle of the announcement when Joe stood up saying his daughter was not marrying him and informing Iris he was no longer paying for her college in case she did and leaving under Henry’s protests of  _let the kids finish speaking._ Francine followed shortly, promising Iris that everything would be ok.

Iris went afterwards, after telling Barry she was only grabbing a few change of clothes and then they could head for his place, where she wasn’t planning on leaving at least until the break was over.

When she walked out of her bedroom after packing her bags she heard her mom’s voice;  

“You’ll lose her, Joseph.”

“I will not,” her father answered. 

They were having a discussion and apparently they had moved that to the living room because Iris could hear it all clearly now.

“Yes, you will,” Francine argued; “You make her choose and I promise you she’s choosing Barry.”

And it hurt hearing it out loud, it hurt having someone naming it, but she supposed it was true. But then again, it wasn’t Barry making her choose.

“He’s her first boyfriend. They won’t last —”

“Longer than one year? Or two? Until they get married or until what? Listen to me, I know you, I know you think I’m saying this out of spite but I know our daughter —”

“How so? I don’t remember you being here —” Joe said and Iris knew very well the friendly tone he was wearing.

“And maybe that’s why I seem to have a better understanding of her than you do, because I can see the woman she became. You can shake your head, it doesn’t make it any less true. If you push, she’ll push back, and she won’t forgive, Iris does not forgive easily. It took me 4 years to get her to Atlantis —”

“You left her.” Joe accused, and there it was; somehow, throughout all those years, every single argument her parents had always ended up in this sentence.

“I left you!” Francine argued; “It was my turn, my turn to work and be the actress I knew I could be and you refused to come with and I asked for Iris to come with me but she’s daddy’s girl so she stayed. But that’s not the point, Joseph, the point is this time she won’t choose you, she’ll choose Barry.”

Joe grew quiet for a moment and Iris considered walking down the stairs when she heard;

“I don’t like him.”

“You don’t like him because you know I’m right!” Francine pointed, out but Joe argued;

“He’s a kid. He is a weak kid and he looks at her like she’s… I don’t like him.”

“Well, then you pretend like you do,” Francine advised in a softer voice now; “you are nothing but a great actor when you wish to be. Because I promise you, she appreciates how Barry tries, and how his family has her over with open arms, how they change holiday plans so she and her family can be included, and she notices how you are the one standing up in the middle of their announcement. You are pushing her limits and she will push you back and you don’t want to be pushed by Iris.”

“I can’t be the only one who sees what a recipe for disaster this is —”

And Iris had no desire to listen to any of it any longer, so she made a loud noise shutting the door of her bedroom and stepped down the stairs heavily and her dad questioned;

“Iris, what are you doing?”

“I’m spending some time at Barry’s,” she explained calmly.

“Iris, honey —”

“Save it, dad!” she said, facing him fully in the eyes for the first time since he interrupted Barry; “I don’t wanna hear you talking about it anymore.”

“Honey —”

“I get it, I get how you don’t want to pay for my school after I get married,” she told him; “I get the whole ‘if you want to be an adult you have to support yourself’ discourse, I’ve heard it, but this isn’t just about tonight, tonight was just the icing on the cake of how you treat my boyfriend, my fiancé, the man I love. That doesn’t hurt just him, it hurts me too, dad.”

Joe froze, his face twisting with the words he was undoubtedly swallowing and Iris informed him; 

“I’m spending the rest of the winter break at his place, and you really don’t want to talk to me right now.”

Her mom’s words kept echoing through Iris’s brain as she drove to Barry’s, as she took a hot shower, as Barry tried to engage her in a silly conversation, and as she twisted in bed that night, and suddenly, she couldn’t hold the tears any longer, so she allowed them to fall, hoping that Barry’s apparent deep slumber was enough to keep him from hearing anything, but soon enough he turned so he was facing her and asked;

“Iris? Are you asleep?”

“No,” she said, drying her tears

“Can we talk?”

“Yeah,” she agreed, and suddenly the room was flooded with a yellow light and her eyes slowly focused back on Barry, his face wearing a worried expression and the last thing Iris wanted was for him to be hurt by any of it, so she cradled his face and asked;

“What’s wrong, babe?”

“Are you regretting it?”

“What? No! Are you?” Barry blinked twice and brought himself even closer to her and Iris could see every different hue that formed his irises and she could count his eyelashes, as he said;

“No, I’m not, but I feel like my parents were mostly calm with the situation.”

“Barry, I’m here, aren’t I?” she asked him.

“Yeah, I know.”

“Ok, then that means this is what I want. You are what I want.”

“Yeah, ok,” turning to face the ceiling, bringing her closer under his arms and all she could feel was Barry steady under her and once again, she was sure of it; she was never loving anyone else like she loved him and most importantly, she had no desire to; Barry was all she wanted or would want.

“I’m sorry about my dad,” she offered.

“I’m sorry too. I mean, it hurts you more.” 

And then Iris just wanted for it to be over, and if they were married, there would be no fighting it, it would be done, no chance of turning back, and her dad wouldn’t think he was somehow capable of convincing her otherwise, and Iris could pack her stuff and move to Barry’s place and be done with it, so she proposed;

“What if we just got married?”

“That’s what I meant when I asked,” Barry informed her, missing her point.

“No. I mean, what if we just went to the city hall and got married? Tomorrow, or you know, the next business day.”

“What?” Barry asked sitting up in bed, looking at her carefully; “No! Don’t you want a wedding?”

“I don’t know,” she said, because the truth was she wanted a wedding but she wanted for her dad to walk her down the aisle, she wanted for him to be happy for her, but most of all; “I really don’t want to go home.”

“I thought you were spending the rest of the break here,” he said and she could see a resemblance of a pout on his lips which meant he was controlling himself to not whine for her to stay.

“I am, I mean afterwards.”

“Well, you could move in,” Barry mumbled and Iris suddenly suspected that was something he wanted to ask for a long time now, so she smiled at him, the proper procedure and rules getting lost on him for once and Iris was always proud to be the one to cause that out of him, whether it was having sex in the library or moving in together before marriage.

“Just move in?” she asked, a little teasingly and Barry turned pink, but he argued;

“We are engaged. I just — I mean, I don’t think that we should get married to get it over with,” he argued; “you can move in and we can plan everything and give your dad a little time to get used to it, have our family there,” and she felt her smile die on her lips as Barry guaranteed her; “Iris, he’ll be there.”

“Yeah, ok,” she agreed. She supposed she did want a wedding, she wanted to celebrate it and she wanted to give that to Barry.

“Will you move in?” he asked, his eyes eager on her.

“Are you sure? I know you like to do things properly…” Iris pointed out just in case he was forgetting.

“I’m sure. I want you here, I want to live with you, if you would like that too; if not, you can stay for as long as you need still. I just — I really do want you here.”

She smiled at that, pulling him back down so she could settle into him. He was the only way she was sleeping tonight, the smell of Barry and his hands travelling up and down her arm; 

“I want to be here,” she told him. 

She mocked Barry every time he would tell her he didn’t want for her to leave, but that was only so she could mask the fact that she had no desire of leaving, so she pulled his bottom lip between hers, slipping her tongue in, her hands traveling down his belly and then up his legs as a familiar sound escape his throat. Her fiancé. He would be her husband. Hers.

* * *

 

After she moved most of her stuff out of her dad’s, on one night, she was sure he was singing at Jitterbugs, Iris expected for him to call, show up at Barry’s apartment, well, their apartment, for him to react someway; instead she got a call from her mom, telling Iris she was going back to Atlantis and requesting a shopping date, even though Iris (rightfully) suspected that the goal of the meeting was to talk about Barry, and her dad. So after Francine bought Iris a dress and a skirt, and Iris bought some frames and two matching vases and three cushions for the apartment, they sat down at a packed coffee shop and Francine finally asked; 

“Honey, how are you doing?”

“I’m good,” she said blowing on her cappuccino.

“You like Barry’s place?” Francine questioned.

“Yeah, I helped him pick it. And Barry is anal so the whole thing is extremely neat and organised, but it lacks life a little.”

“Hence the shopping,” Francine said, pointing at her bags, “And you’ve permanently moved there?

“Dad?” Iris asked, though she thought the shopping would have been enough clue.

“He called me,” Francine confirmed; “said you came home to get the rest of your things.”

“Yeah, I did, and it’s not just because of dad —”

“No, I know, honey,” and Iris had to admit that having her mom’s support was somewhat soothing even though Iris didn’t really know how to respond to it, so she kept quiet until Francine offered;

“Iris, I’ll pay for your school.”

“Mom, no!”

“Yes, I wanted to pay before this whole thing but your dad insisted on paying and I ended up caving, but if he’s not paying, then I will.”

“Mom,” she whined, and she really didn’t want to create any extra problems between Joe and Francine and this would turn out to be a big one.

“This is not an offer, Iris,” her mom insisted; “I’m simply telling you.”

“Dad —” Iris started but Francine interrupted;

“I will deal with your father regarding this. Are Barry’s parents still paying for his?”

Nora and Henry had paid them a visit, and after informing Barry and Iris they thought they were both too young and could bear waiting for a couple of years before marrying, they said they would keep paying Barry’s tuition and offered to keep helping with the rent until they graduated, saying the last thing they wanted for either of them was for them to drop out of school. Nora had told Iris that they would love to be able to help with her tuition as well, but she felt that doing that would be undermining her dad, so Iris and Barry were discussing on getting a loan so she could finish school, but having her mom pay for it would most definitely help; this way, Iris could even consider quitting at Jitterbug if an internship opportunity came along. 

“Yes,” Iris guaranteed Francine; “and they said they’ll help with the rent until we finish our undergrad.”

“Look, honey,” her mom offered; “your dad will come around.”

“Will he?” Iris asked, a little terrified with how easily the tears formed in her eyes, but she refused to allow them to fall; “because it feels like I have to spend my life choosing between the people I love.”

Francine moved places so she could sit by Iris’s side and gave her a hug, saying;

“He’ll come around, I promise you that. I promise you. And he is wrong. He thinks you need someone to protect you, but you don’t, you need someone you can let your guard down with, you need someone who loves you and makes you happy.”

Iris nodded and Francine concluded; 

“It’s a big commitment but I know you, Iris, you wouldn’t say yes if you were not sure. So enjoy it, enjoy being engaged and in love, have fun.”

“Ok,” Iris agreed, and for the first time in her life since Francine moved to Atlantis, Iris was dreading her leaving after a visit to Central City. She suddenly wanted her mommy there, which felt ridiculous considering she was moving in with her fiancé, she was supposed to be an adult and not need her mommy, but it was very difficult saying goodbye when she drove Francine to the airport the next day, without asking for her to stay.

 

* * *

 

 

“I told you to not move,” Iris instructed Barry one more time and he laughed, the vibration of it mixing with the spasms on his belly and reaching Iris’s body as he justified;

“I have no control over it.”

And Iris leaned down, aiming her lips on his this time and Barry’s hands came to press her down to him and he so clearly did not understand this game.

“Can’t control your hands either all the sudden?” she asked and Barry laughed again, flipping them over so he was on top now and he said;

“No, the hands I can control but I thought since instinct already got the best of me anyway…” and it was Iris’s turn to laugh as Barry tried to justify further;

“You try it, it’s very difficult to just stand still, you know,” he argued and Iris turned belly down on the mattress as Barry traced her spine with delicate fingers, concluding the movement with a kiss on the small of her back and then another on the swell of her bun and her legs twitched; it really was very difficult to just stand still and Barry laughed a different laugh as she groaned with the sudden lack of contact, but then he was kissing up her thighs, her hips raising against her will, and when the doorbell rang Barry said to the hallway;

“Sorry, we can’t move right now.” 

And in moments like this, Iris felt she got all this  _Barry_ that nobody else accessed, and if he turned her into a softer person she knew somehow, without really consciously doing anything, she turned him into a more confident one, and his big self satisfied smile and the dorky wink he offered her would be enough to convince her to ignore the door, just stay in bed enjoying the Saturday summer morning, naked, as Barry insisted so many times, if the door bell hadn’t rung again. 

And how Barry lost at rock-paper-scissors he had to go answer the door, but not before the third ring; it took him a while to get presentable and he blamed it on Iris who shamelessly enjoyed him pulling his boxers up and his undershirt on and his glasses on and the way his hair bounced product-less as he left the room, closing the door behind him because as she pointed out;  _I’m still naked here, so unless you want me to put on clothes…_

But when he came back to the bedroom Barry had a panicked look on his face, and there was pretty much one person capable of putting that look there, so Iris got confirmation as Barry explained;

“Your father is here.”

Iris sat up to that as Barry hurriedly pulled his sleep trousers on, struggling to successfully get one of the legs through, complaining;

“I just answered the door to your father in my underwear,” he said throwing random pieces of clothing at Iris which she took as a silent  _get dressed_ , so she told him;

“I’ll be there in five minutes.”

When she approached the living room, that actually doubled as kitchen and dining room as well, she heard her dad’s voice and it had been a while so she stayed still, gathering her courage.

“How is she?” she heard him asking.

“She’s good,” Barry said; “she got an internship at CCPN.”

She knew Barry was proud of that, of how the editor sought Iris at the school paper to offer her the internship, of how Barry pushed her to take it, promising that his pay check was enough, that the difference between how much she would make having to give up on her Jitterbug shifts wouldn’t be a problem, so it felt like he somehow deserved the brag. 

“I’ve noticed the bylines,” Joe told him and they both grew quiet so Iris decided to put them out of their misery;

“Hey,” she said, carefully stepping into the room.

“Iris, honey, hi,” her dad said, almost reaching for he, but changing his mind halfway. 

It had been his decision to freeze her over, she tried a couple of times in the beginning, but then she had just given up, so it was nice to have confirmation that it had affected him as well.

“I should go,” Barry said, walking passed her, but Iris grabbed him by the arm and pulled him back. It wasn’t necessarily that she  _needed_  him there, but she wasn’t willing to just give up on his presence.

Her dad’s eyes travelled between them, to Iris’ hand holding Barry in place but she didn’t let go, she didn’t offer anything else either until her father cleared his throat and informed her;

“Your mom is in town.”

“I know, she’s playing Lady Macbeth at the Central Theatre tonight, we’re seeing it.”

Francine’s company was touring with Shakespeare’s plays for the summer and luckily Central City was one of the chosen towns, so Iris was seeing her mom perform the role for the first time.

“Yeah, I’m seeing it too,” and Iris mused if he was ever actually reaching the point when Joe finally said; 

“She told me you set the date.”

“We did. 15th of December,” Iris told him.

“That’s cold,” was all he had to offer on the subject and Iris really didn’t want to react to that, she wasn’t sure if he meant the weather would be cold, if it was cold of her to decide it without informing him or if he was being clever, making a joke, so it was Barry who started talking by her side;

“We’re a winter couple. I mean that as in all of our significant steps were taken in the winter — I don’t mean that we are cold or even that we prefer the winter — Iris hates the cold for the most part” and then he turned to look at her and said in a whisper; “I’ll be quiet now.”

But Iris did appreciate the effort.

“Am I getting an invitation?” Joe questioned.

“I don’t know, do you want to be there?”

“Yes, Iris, of course I do,” he said and it seemed like he was implying that this thing between them was as much her fault as his and she wasn’t about to let him get away with it so she replied firmly;

“It’s not obvious, dad, you don’t get to act like it’s obvious.”

“I’m sorry, Iris,” he finally offered, but apologising to her was not going to be enough, so she questioned;

“Are you?”

“Yes, yes, I am. I love you, honey, there’s nothing else I want other than for you to be happy.”

Iris remained quiet to that, squeezing Barry’s hand so he wouldn’t try to fill the silence, so her dad could get there by himself, which he did;

“And I’m sorry, Barry, for not always treating you… respectfully.”

“Oh, that’s — it’s all right, Joe,” Barry said and Iris pressed her lips together to stop herself from smiling but her father knew better than to correct Barry, he ignored whatever clever response to that that must have popped on his brain and continued;

“I was hoping we could have dinner tonight, after the play.”

“We’re taking mom out after the play,” Iris informed him.

“I know, I know. She’s the one who suggested it.”

And it was really ironic to have her mom tell her dad about the details of her life, to have her mom having to schedule dinners and push Joe to even talk to his daughter.

“Who would have thought we would need mom to smooth things between us?”

“Is that a yes?” Joe asked, but Iris turned to Barry and he was already looking at her and he nodded at her silent question, so she told her father;

“Yeah, we can have dinner.”

“I’ll see you tonight then, I’ll let you two get back —,” and then Joe stopped himself, probably at the memory of a Barry in his underwear answering the door, so he concluded; “to your Saturday.”

And as it turned out they really did need Francine there at the dinner, which was still mostly awkward and a little uncomfortable, but Joe did not pretend like Barry was invisible for once, not even when Barry mocked him back; he also didn’t roll his eyes at Iris and Barry sharing their dessert or at how Iris stole some of Barry’s food, like he always used to, so small steps, Iris concluded.

They were now saying their goodbyes in the parking lot of the restaurant and Iris offered;

“We can drive you, mom. We’re this way,” pointing to the direction they had parked.

“It’s all right,” her dad said; “her hotel is closer to home than to Bartholomew’s; I can drop her off,” and he dragged the Bartholomew’s part of the sentence, which made it all clearer that he was still having a hard time to accept the fact that that was now  _her_  home. 

“It’s ok, honey,” her mom agreed; “your dad can drop me off.”

She studied her mom’s face and she nodded. 

Growing up, after Francine left, it was difficult for Iris to think of her parents as two people that were once together, in love. It seemed that the only thing they could ever have in common was Iris herself, and then for a brief second, Iris tried to imagine her and Barry in the same position and a panic settled over her so she shook herself out of it. 

If this whole thing had served for Joe and Francine to come at peace with their story and with each other, then it might have been worth it, so Iris gave her mom a hug and assured her;

“You were incredible, mom. Really. I can see why it’s your favourite role.”

“Thank you, sweetheart,” her mom smiled at her.

“It really was incredible,” Barry agreed.

“Thank you. I’m happy you two got to see it.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow, mom.”

After their goodbyes, Iris grabbed Barry’s hand in hers as they walked to the car and Barry said;

“Your mom is an amazing actress.”

“Yes, she is,” Iris agreed.

“That was so much better than that school production we saw, there’s not even comparison.”

“No, there is not,” she agreed again, and she enjoyed listening to his noises as he went on about the play and about the story, and this overwhelming rush of affection for him, for the sweet and kind boy who had somehow picked her, who would brave through dinner with her father and genuinely admire her mother, surged through Iris and she was never letting him go, so she pushed him against their car, placing a hungry kiss to his lips that still tasted like mint ice-cream, and he answered accordingly, hands holding Iris closer by her butt cheeks and lips traveling down the column of her neck and when she pulled away, he asked;

“What was that for?” and Iris appreciated how he would always respond eagerly first and question her motives later, so she answered with a bite under his right ear;

“I just felt like kissing my fiancé.”

“This whole fiancé thing, I’m tired of it already,” he said breathlessly.

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah, I want to be your husband already.”

Iris laughed at that, placing a chaste kiss on his lips and enjoying the way his glasses fogged with their warm breathing.

“All right, let’s go,” she said.

“Where are we going?” Barry asked, his eyes lost on hers, like he truly had no idea where she would take him but he would go willingly anyway, so she answered;

“Home.”


End file.
